```
"Drip.
"Drip.
A stream of warm, sticky liquid was dripping onto Wuma Haoming's head, but he didn't dare look up, sure that what was hanging above him was a hand, a hand clutching a piece of stone with a sharp edge.
Without a doubt, it was this stone that had smashed Hu Yanming's head.
"It's over..." Wuma Haoming's heart sank into despair.
...
Yang Xiao remembered Mi Shu's warning and retreated step by step, maintaining his rhythm, clearing his mind, restraining himself from random thoughts. Soon, the chilling cries faded, until they were completely inaudible.
Even so, Yang Xiao kept his eyes closed until he heard Mi Shu's relieved voice, "We made it out!"
Indeed, upon opening his eyes, the scene had changed: the marked tree with the twisted neck was gone. Everyone crowded around, only to see Wuma Haoming sitting on the ground not far away, crawling backward little by little with hands and feet.
